Or, more accurately, the parents of babies are boring.
Seriously, when this equals big-time photo-op excitement at your house...
...you are boring. Congratulations.
You can't really help being boring, because while babies are cute and all, they just don't DO very much. You spend your days wiping up spit-up and changing their clothes because poop shot out the leg holes of their diaper because they're right in between diaper sizes and can you believe he's wearing size two diapers now? But he's got skinny thighs so the leg holes kind of gap so yeah, he pooped on his outfit and maybe a little on the couch too and the next thing you know, you've just spent 10 minutes discussing the intricacies of disposable diaper leg holes with the cashier at the grocery store.
Having a baby means that your big Friday night plans involved a
small bowl of rice cereal and this was ridiculously exciting to you.
So exciting that you probably spent the rest of the weekend telling everyone you knew about this small bowl of rice cereal.
Being a parent means you KNOW nobody cares, but you tell them anyway.
Having a baby means wall-to-wall plastic crap in primary colors.
Being a parent means you have no qualms whatsoever about sticking your finger up another human being's nose.
Being a parent means that sometime, someday, and no matter how strongly you swore you wouldn't, you will talk about yourself in the third person.
Probably in a really high-pitched voice, and you'll be doing something weird with your eyebrows too.
Being a parent means you spend SUBSTANTIAL chunks of your time trying to arrange the verses of "The Wheels on the Bus" into a logically pleasing order.
Like, obviously you start with the wheels going round and round. And then I like to sing all the other verses about inanimate parts of the bus first, like the wipers (swish swish swish) and the blinkers (on and off? left and right? blink blink blink?) and then I end with the doors (open and close) because I think this is a nice segue to the verse about the bus driver, because he's who you see when the doors open and close, and you move on back, move on back, move on back to where the other passengers are, starting with the children and then the babies and then the mommies saying don't you fuss, and isn't there a verse about the daddies on the bus? Or are we to assume that daddies don't ride the bus because daddy is off having a mid-life crisis in his Corvette?
There should also be a verse about the no-good teenagers listening to their damn iPods on the bus or the homeless man with too many plastic shopping bags screaming about Whitey on the bus, but I haven't been able to come up with the right lyrics yet.
Being a parent means you are genetically unable to stop talking about how your three-and-a-half month old HELD HIS OWN BOTTLE, FOR LIKE, A MINUTE, or about how he found an old pacifier in his crib and mashed it into his mouth ALL BY HIMSELF, and these are the skills you are currently hanging your Ivy League hopes on and why does everybody look so bored?
Because you are a parent. And you are now boring.
Which is why it's probably a good thing that I don't get out much anymore, and why I have no idea what to tell people who leave comments about missing the "old" Amalah, because yeah, I miss her too, but I ALREADY KILLED HER WITH THE BORING.
Although she did sort-of make a reappearance this weekend, during a baby-less five-block walk in Chinatown on Saturday night, during which we got kind of trapped in a crowd of honest-to-God MONSTER TRUCK RALLY attendees, including one of the largest, craziest and most balls-out mullets I have EVER seen, which totally required a double-take from me, which totally caused the little kitten heel of my shoe to get stuck in a sidewalk grate, and then I caused all sorts of sidewalk traffic while I yanked it out of the grate and everybody was staring at me thinking, "Um, maybe wear sneakers next time? Moron."
Being a parent means there's only one person who finds you absolutely hilarious and fascinating.
Unfortunately, he also loves ugly plastic crap and farts.
But he totally gets your excitement about the cereal, and that's all that matters.